The Aftermath
by Tellyounolies
Summary: A take on what happens to the boys after they leave the island. Revolves around Jack and Ralph. Obviously should be Jack/Ralph, but isn't, sadly enough.
1. On the Way Home

**Author's Notes:** Wrote this last summer. This is the first chapter of The Aftermath (lololo sorry for the fail title), if it were to have actual legit chapters. The Aftermath is just a take on what would happen after the boys left the island, told from the POV of Ralph, Jack, and a tiny portion contains the POV of other characters. I've never felt like writing sequential chapters for this, so its "chapters" are just snippets of the story. If you want a summary of what happens in the whole thing so you can follow along better, I'll write it at the bottom of this. However, if enough people nag me to write chapters in order, I just _may, _so spoil it at your own risk.

This story desperately wants to be Jack/Ralph, but it won't quite be. (It's Ralph/OC and kind of Jack/OC. And I hate them both just a little.) Sadly enough for all of us shippers (yeah it's my story, and it's not going the way I want it to XD). But it takes an interesting look at their relationship (the shipped romantic one as well as its "aftermath"...well, you'll see) and how it develops. Enjoy.

Disclaimer.

**This obviously contains spoilers for the whole LOTF book. Please don't read it if you haven't finished the book itself.**

Please R&R!

---

Ralph's breath came fast and hard, though he tried to stifle it. He was wedged into the darkest corner of his little hole; why would they look for him here? Even as he tried to convince himself of this, he knew there was no hope. But the question was, what would get to him first — the fire or the savages?

The ululation sounded in a line behind him again, and a shudder wracked his body. He hoped it would be the fire.

Then — the rustling of the foliage. Ralph tensed; there was someone there. The boy was crouched, close to the ground; Ralph could make out his silhouette. He paced carefully, slowly, ever closer to Ralph's hiding place. Ralph gripped his spear tighter; splinters pierced into his hand. He was so scared; his mouth was dry, his eyes were darting back and forth; his heart pounded so loudly in his chest he was afraid it would give him away. The terror washed over him in screaming waves, drowning his thoughts with its howling. He was going to die; he was going to die today, torn to bloody carnage by his former friends, head rammed onto a stake in the ground. He was going to die, just like Simon, like Piggy…

He stifled a gag at the sickening remembrance of Piggy's brains. The savage crept closer. The boy's face was pointed towards the ground…he stopped just above Ralph's hole. He peered closer; he would be able to see Ralph any second now…

With a wild screech Ralph burst from his hiding place and tore towards the beach. The savage, racing after him, warned the others with the terrible ululation. They all responded; the sound was much too close. Ralph pushed himself harder; was that possible? And what was he to do once he reached the beach? Fight them off?

A humorless, slightly insane laugh choked out of him as the tears bubbled down his face. Right. Well, at least his spear was sharpened at both ends.

He tore into the sand and whirled, ready to meet them when they came out. But then he realized all noise, save the crackling of the fire, had stopped. There was no sound of pursuit. This scared him more than ever.

And suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder. He could feel the point of a spear digging into his back, causing blood to trickle down it. He thought this was the worst; he thought nothing could terrify him more than this. But he was proven wrong. There was a tiny, simple word spoken by an all too familiar voice that would shatter him from inside out with agony.

"Gotcha."

And the spear exploded through his chest.

—

Ralph bolted up as a scream tore through his throat. He was coated in cold sweat; he couldn't think. He wrapped himself into as tight a ball as he could make as the screams ripped out of his mouth, shattering the relative silence of the night.

"Hey! Hey kid, easy, easy…" The navel captain was already by his side, putting an arm around his shoulder and patting him awkwardly on the back. The boy looked up at him with uncomprehending eyes, wide with terror. He was more animal now than human. He shoved the captain away with surprising force, and scrambled into a corner of the cabin, where he made himself as small as he could. He screams faded into whimpers after a while.

"Trouble with the kid again, Kyle?" A voice came through the captain's door.

He sighed, pushing himself up from the floor to go open it. He sat on the bed after his friend and shipmate had come in. "You have no idea," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I don't understand it. Okay, true, the other boys won't talk to each other, but at least they'll stay in rooms together. But this one? Refuses to even make eye contact with the others. I had to bring his meals here before he would start eating, and even that took a while. And every night, he wakes up screaming like this. Scares me out of my wits every time, I tell you."

The other man nodded, sitting on the cot opposite the captain. "Well, sounds like they had a rough time of it. Two killed, did you say?"

He nodded. "That this one knows of. None of them have spoken since we first picked them up."

"I don't know what happened on that island, but I sure as hell know I'm glad I wasn't there. Still, I wonder — what sorts of things happened to make them like this? I mean, did you see that redhead? Clay covering his whole face, like some sort of tribal mask." He shook his head. "They were practically children. What happened?"

They both sat, mulling over this as the ship rocked gently.

After a few moments, the captain stood. "Well," he said, stretching as he yawned, "best be getting back to bed. Looks like the kid's asleep again."

His friend got up, stretching as well. "Poor bugger. Bet he hardly gets any sleep, waking up like that."

The captain laughed as he opened the door for his friend. "I would know. Night, Ron."

Ron waved back over his shoulder. "Night, Kyle."

---

As promised, **a huge spoiler of the whole story. **After leaving the island, all the boys have scars from the horrors they experienced. However, Ralph is affected the worst, being the only "good" one to survive. After hardly eating or sleeping for weeks, his parents send him to psychotherapy. Jack isn't so lucky; with parents who don't seem to notice how much he's suffering, he takes to alcohol and drugs to drown the memories. Eventually he's caught, and sent to rehab, where he meets Steffen. Steffen's the only one who seems to care if Jack lives or dies, so they quickly become close. Closer than friends, even, but Jack won't take it too far, because his mind keeps returning to a certain blond...

This "certain blond" has meanwhile met the daughter of a psychotherapist who works at the center he goes to. Optimistic and kind, Mackenzie eventually gets Ralph to open up to her. He ends up telling her the same amount he told his doctor, and getting it off his chest a second time helps to close the wounds even quicker. Strengthened by his recovered conscious and his new found love, Ralph decides to finally confront his most deeply wedged fear -- Jack. He and Mackenzie transfer to the same school as Jack and Steffen, and then the real drama begins.

Jack had never expected to see Ralph again, especially only three years after the island, especially at his own school. A whole slew of complications ensues -- Ralph is still avoiding Jack, and only forced confrontations can bring about curt replies; Jack has fallen fully back in love and just wants to apologize; Steffen is being ignored and getting hurt; and when a new boy enrolls in the school and the rooming arrangements shift, Jack and Ralph have to room together. Jack tries to break down his walls, just so he can _talk _to him, and when he finally forces him to listen to his apology, Ralph only screams that it's too late.

There are quite a few details that I haven't worked out, especially during the school period of the story (for instance: is the new boy at the school Roger? Should I throw him in the story at all?). But at the end, Ralph eventually forgives him, even though they can never be the way they were, or even close. Jack hurt him far too much, and he has a new love, and one that's always good to him. So that kind of sucks, but, I suppose that's the way the cookie crumbles. (you say, "wtf, woman. you're writing this freaking story." i say, "i know. i tried to change the end. i tried to make it jack/ralph and throw mackenzie out a window, but ralph was just kind of like 'oh hell no. i'm not getting back together with the _guy who tried to kill me._' (and, depending on how slashy/ohgodwtfwhy you view the story, raped him.) And i was like 'darn.'")

**end spoiler.**

Being the complete dork that I am, I actually made a LOTF/Aftermath playlist. It starts a bit before the feast where they kill Simon (with Ralph being (sexually) abused), and ends at the end of Aftermath. I mapped out complete music videos for Aftermath for the last two songs on the playlist, so that definitely influenced the exact details of the end of the story. If you want the list of songs and reasons, just send me a note or comment on this. I'd be happy to oblige.


	2. The Art of Forgetting

**Author's Notes: **Written last summer. Jack gets caught smoking; but he was only trying to forget. A few weeks, maybe a month or two after the first chapter. Disclaimer.

---

Smoke poured out of the slightly open window. A young boy with astonishingly bright red hair sat, blissfully stoned, blowing the noxious fumes into the cool morning air. His mind drifted lazily, circling like the smoke on soft breezes. He was too high to connect the sound of the front door slamming to the fact that, for some reason or other, his mother had returned from work far too early.

And she had noticed the smoke.

"Jack, what are you doing in there?" The sharp call penetrated his murky mind, and he surfaced with growing hatred for the pounding footsteps on the stairs. Tossing the joint out the window — _what a waste _— he opened it wide and impatiently encouraged the wind to come in and blow out the smell. But he knew it was too late anyway.

"Jack?"

He watched the locked doorknob rattle through slitted eyes.

The questioning tone became demanding, harsh. "Jack, open the door this instant!"

"Fuck off!" he responded, throwing a shoe at the door. It missed.

His mother audibly gasped. "Jack! _Never _use that kind of language! I don't know where —"

"Shut up, you noisy bitch!" he shouted over her. "Leave me alone!" His head was beginning to pound, and his ears were ringing. She was ruining his high.

"Oh, you bet I will, you little shit!"

He was surprised to hear the thumping of her feet as she ran back down the stairs. His mind was too foggy to make any attempt at guessing what she was doing. He stomped over to his closet, flinging open the doors and rummaging around on the floor. Finally, he found what he was looking for. "Damn, last one in the package," he muttered, tossing the empty cigarette box aside as he lit one up.

He returned to his chair by the window and took a big draw of a thousand toxins. As he cooled down, he absentmindedly stroked the raised slashes on his wrists. Yeah, he knew he was deep in a pile of shit. But he couldn't care less. All that mattered was finding the quickest way to forget.

He mused on suicide again. Maybe that was the easiest. It certainly seemed so, the longer the days dragged on. Besides, he didn't care much about living anymore. Why did everyone make such a big fuss about it?

Suddenly his mother was outside the door again, her voice gentler. "I called a rehab center. You'll be going there every night starting tomorrow."

"Yeah, whatever," he muttered, too out of it to get worked up again. _Not like I'll go._

"Jack…" His mother sighed. "Look, you're going to have to come out of there sometime, and then we can have a nice, long chat. And maybe we can see about you getting together with one of your friends. You haven't seen them since you came back…"

"Not friends anymore," he said shortly. _Go away already. _

"All right…" She pressed on. "Well then, what about one of those nice boys you got stranded with on that island? You must have made some friends there."

A thousand images flashed through his mind at once. _Bloodsandpigsdirtspearspaintmasktribefirespecsbrainssavagebeast_

"No. No, I didn't," he said tightly, closing the subject for the thousandth time.

"Well…" She sighed in defeat. "I'll see you at supper, then."

"I doubt it," he muttered under his breath, listening to her retreating footsteps. _Dammit…_ she had made the memories surface again. Not like they stayed away for long, anyway. He pressed his fingernails into his forehead, trying to draw blood, concentrating on the ticking of the clock, trying to forget.


	3. Therapy

**Author's Notes: **Yep, still last summer. Ralph gets a surprise as he waits to be called in for his therapy session. A few months to a year after the first chapter. Disclaimer.

---

"Oh, I'm sorry… Dr. Tofic is still meeting with another patient. Can you wait in the lobby? It'll only be a few minutes."

The lady at the reception counter smiled apologetically at him. He sighed, turning to look at a picture of a sailboat on a far wall. "Yeah, yeah, that's fine. I'll just go sit over there…" He flashed a small smile at her as he made his way over to the chairs, more for her sake than because he wanted to. Smiling was not high on his list of priorities at the moment, though Dr. Tofic stressed he exercise those muscles as often as he could.

Ralph chose a chair as far away from any person as he could. Socializing was not high up there, either. (Dr. Tofic had made a point about this, too.) But why would you want to socialize with anyone at a therapy center?

He stared down at his lap, not wanting to attract attention, or see anybody he might know. He always dreaded these sessions with the therapist, though in a way they were somewhat of a relief to him. Every time, it felt like a little more of the poison slogging through him was vented out through his pores.

"_Vented out through my pores?" What am I thinking? _Before he could dwell more on this, he heard the creak of the seat next to him and a voice asking, "Is this seat taken?"

Unwillingly, he looked up. A young girl, about his age, sat smiling at him. Her merry face was surrounded in a halo of unruly dark brown hair, which streamed in waves past her shoulders. She had a smattering of sun freckles across her face, and her bright hazel eyes were scrunched up in the grin.

Ralph looked around. There were plenty of empty chairs around the place. He considered lying to her, then decided against it. "Uh, no." Having said his obligatory line, he turned away from her and stared at a picture of two children and a dog playing in a field of flowers.

But evidently, the girl wasn't done talking. "Well, that's good," she sighed, and he could hear more creaking as she settled back into the chair. "And here I thought I was going to have to sit all alone and bored. I'm glad another kid is here. Adults are no fun to make conversation with. Kids are the interesting ones. You see, my mom works here, and —"

"Your mom works here?" He whipped his head around, cutting her off. _Oh god, what if she's Dr. Tofic's daughter? Am I speaking to the child of the lady I tell my problems to? Does she tell her children? _

"Yep!" she said, smiling brightly. "Dr. Maverick. My mom…"

Saved from that mortification, Ralph tuned her out and resumed staring off into space. He sat there for a few moments, letting his mind wander, until a hand flashed in front of his face.

"Hey, kid, are you listening?"

Ralph snapped into focus. "Uh, yeah…"

Her laugh was bubbles. "No you weren't, I can tell. It's okay, it doesn't matter. Mom tells me I ramble too much anyway. But, what's your name?"

He blinked at her. "Um, Ralph."

"Wow, you sound unsure." She giggled again. "I'm Mackenzie. It's nice to meet you!"

He was just starting to smile slightly at her when a hand tapped his shoulder.

"Excuse me, Mr. London?"

Ralph turned around, and was greeted with the warm face of the receptionist. "Yes?"

"Dr. Tofic is ready to meet with you."

"Oh. Thanks." He didn't want to turn to meet the girl's — _Mackenzie's _— surely shocked expression. She must have thought he was just waiting for somebody here. Or something. Anything other than that he was a patient. _How embarrassing._

"Oh, you're one of Dr. Tofic's patients? Sometimes she and my mom have coffee together. She's a really nice lady."

It turned out that Ralph was the only shocked one. He turned around to stare at Mackenzie, who was still talking.

"…have tea parties with their other lady friends, and —"

"You don't care?" he blurted, interrupting her again.

She blinked at him. "About what?"

"That I…" he sighed, shaking his head. "Never mind." It didn't really matter what she thought, anyway — it wasn't like he was going to see her again.

"Okay." She grinned up at him. "It was nice meeting you, Ralph! I'll see you around!"

Or maybe he was.

She waved her fingers at him as he made his dazed way to Dr. Tofic's office. He opened the dark wooden door, thinking, _What a very strange girl._


	4. Am I Still Human?

**Author's Notes: **GUESS WHEN THIS WAS WRITTEN. Takes place anywhere from a couple weeks to a couple months after the second chapter.

---

"Sucks to rehab. I don't need it."

Steffen nodded in an uncommitted response, not one to argue. They were lounging by soggy boxes in the back of a dirty alley, the only place they could do what they wanted and not have anyone complain. He watched as Jack pulled a cigarette out and lit it.

"Give me a light?"

Jack flipped the lighter open and watched as flames briefly consumed the end of Steffen's cigarette. For a few minutes they sat there, puffing in silence. Finally, Steffen broke the quiet.

"Hey, Jack…" Steffen paused, figuring out how to word his question. "Why…what was the reason you started cutting? I mean, I know you had some shit in your past that you don't want to talk about around the councilors, but, just between friends…"

Jack took a long draw on his cigarette and watched the smoke stream out of his nose before answering. "I wanted to make sure. If I could still get hurt, if I could still bleed…I wanted to make sure…I was still human."

"What else would you be?"

_A beast. _"I dunno. I just don't feel like anything is anchoring me here. I feel like I'm losing my emotions." _My soul. My mind. _

Steffen watched his blue eyes flash, troubled. They did this often. He searched for some way to comfort him. "I…I believe you're still human."

"Oh, what do you matter?" he snorted, turning his head away. After a beat, he muttered, "But thanks, I guess." There was a tiny piece of humanity that still had faith in him. Maybe that was enough.

But he knew it never would be.


	5. Denial

**Author's Notes: **Written last FALL. Oh, what now. One of Ralph's therapy sessions.

---

Dr. Tofic thumbed to a new page in her notebook. "So, Ralph," she began, adjusting her glasses as she prepared to write. "Have you come to terms with your homosexuality?"

"_What?_" The outburst tumbled from Ralph's open mouth. He was now bolt upright in the reclined chair, limbs rigid.

Dr. Tofic retained her calm façade. "I asked, have you —"

"No, no, I heard what you asked," he spluttered. "I just…well, I mean…" His mind had deserted him, leaving him with a struggle to form a string of words. "I…no. No. I'm not." He took a breath. "I'm not."

She quirked an eyebrow, looking down to make a note. When she glanced back up, her face was once more clear. "But…you mentioned having some sort of relationship with one of the boys on the island."

Ralph shook his head as she spoke, eyes shut tight. _No. No, no, no, no, no, no — _it took him a moment to realize he wasn't speaking aloud. "No. No." He shook his head again. "_No. _That was…it was…" He groped in darkness for the right word. "Different."

"How?"

He only shook his head. "No. It was different. No. I…I like girls, okay? No." He knew he was repeating the same things. But he liked to convince himself that the constant "no" would help to suppress the cankered, acidic memory. _Lies. _

Dr. Tofic sighed, looking over her glasses as she leaned forward to pierce him with her all-knowing eyes. "Ralph, you know we'll never get anywhere with anything if you won't talk about it."

Again, he shook his head, like a stubborn child. "Look. My…" He wouldn't think the word. "With…" He _refused _to think his name — "It's…it's in the past, okay? Can't we just move on?"

"You have to heal the wounds of the past before you can progress into the future."

But he was done speaking.

With another sigh, Dr. Tofic leaned back. "Well, if that's how you feel, Ralph. I'll see you next week."

Ralph had hoped to feel relieved at the freedom from the grueling interrogation, but the only emotion twisting his gut was guilt for the disappointment in her voice.


End file.
